PN2: Ratchetricity
by Dena Gray
Summary: Sequel to Prime's Number, focusing on Ratchet. The medic revisits his age old love affair with the beauty of electricity and all the tortures it enfolds. Mature.
1. Chapter 1

For the eighth time in three cycles, the yellow transformer found himself gravitating to his leader's office, even though it was completely out of the way of the makeshift med bay wherewith he normally ensconced himself. This time, Ratchet tucked his chin guard and determinedly kept going instead of turning back as he had the previous seven times. He'd seen and faced horrors that no other Autobot could comprehend and yet this interrogation had him on tenterhooks…it just didn't make sense…was he afraid of Starscream? Ha. Hardly. If he were honest with himself—and who else could he be honest to?—he was afraid of himself.

Ever since his electrocution at the Witwicky's residence, he'd been remembering things. Things he'd thought long since filed away in a quarantined module. Like how nice the tingle of electrocution could be…

Passing a low table, he lightly kicked it aside. Why did it have to be the MEDIC that always interrogated the captive? True, he'd built a reputation with his reticulating buzzsaw and generally gruff demeanor, but didn't they understand? Didn't Optimus understand? It was like…

It was like giving a bot his arch enemy to escort to jail, the temptation to do more than his duty was just too great. It was an opportunity to…explore…

Yeah. Explore. That's all it was.

Right…

_Hatchet._

That old name cleaved through his consciousness like a harbinger of permanent disassembly. He'd changed everything…his colors, his alt form, his approach to life (and disassembly)…all to follow Optimus when the Prime had offered an alternative path…

He scrubbed his left palm over his facial plating in a human gesture of stressed nerves.

Did Optimus remember? Would he allow Ratchet to proceed as he was about to request? As things stood, it was all the yellow Autobot could do to simply irritate and nag Starscream for information, something in which he would normally take great pleasure. Too much pleasure, as a matter of fact.

_Hatchet_.

Pacing back and forth in front of his leader's office at the Air Force base they'd been using since shortly after Mission City, Ratchet fought between asking Optimus to pass the duty on to Ironhide, or asking for permission to advance in his methods.

The Decepticon Air Commander, now possibly the Decepticon leader (although what a joke THAT would be), had not been in the least helpful with any information on other landings or on Omega Six's location. All Ratchet had been able to get out of Starscream so far was a bogus frequency code and random Earth-songs blared at irritating levels. He had to give it to the flier, he could hold up under light torture. Not that anything he'd done so far could really be called torture. Oh no, the medic thought as he gazed out the open hangar bay towards the distant mountains, purple with the sunrise behind them.

No, there were many…MANY more things he could be doing to make the Decepticon divulge information. He just couldn't let himself go that far without permission. He'd promised Optimus so many vorns ago… He turned back to ponder the steel door separating him from the answer to his burning request. Primus, how could Optimus not have linked the memories yet? When the Autobot leader had still been a new Prime, Ratchet was slated for a different…faction. He didn't want to access the memory file for the exact circumstances, but there had been…a reason Optimus wanted his recollection of recruiting Ratchet…_Hatchet_…deleted.

The problem with that was, one could never fully delete a memory file from a Prime. For that matter, it was difficult to remove files from any bot, but Primes were impossible. It would have only been a matter of time before his benevolent leader would regain the file path to that memory. And from the looks of things, from the looks Ratchet had been receiving from Optimus…especially now that part of Megatron's core had merged with the Prime drive? If Optimus hadn't put two and two together yet, he soon would.

Ratchet had known from day-one after the file-path redirection that it was only a matter of time. The proverbial clock was ticking…

Which was the conundrum right now. Should he go ahead and ask for permission to advance, knowing that the results might "out" him to his leader, possibly destroying the delicate relationship he had with his team members? Or should he relegate the position to a less…tempted candidate? The problem was that he REALLY wanted that temptation. Not only the chance to…explore…but also the chance to make sure he absolutely and without a shadow of a doubt could come back from that void again. It had been so long since he was known as Hatchet, he wasn't quite sure if he could do it. Was that still a part of his functionality, or had it been overwritten by vorns and vorns of medical code?

Monitoring Optimus' stability over the past few orns following the merge with Megatron's core had made Ratchet curious about his own personality changes. He'd gone so long without…exploring…that he wondered if it was still in him to do it.

And Starscream was the perfect opportunity to find out.

He turned another pace, wincing as his pede screeched against the concrete floor. His signal picked up an external scan, forcing a ventilation exhaust—humans called it a sigh. Optimus knew he was here, now, so he might as well go in.

_/Chief Medic Autobot Ratchet requesting permission to enter/_

Surprise, concern and a sense of immediacy stumbled over the private comm frequency as the door slid sideways on rubber casters. He met his leader's blue optics for the first time in joors as the forty-foot Prime stood up and stepped around the scaled desk they'd built from a C-47 wing. Ratchet remembered lasing the wing off the fuselage and showing off to Maggie just to irritate Ironhide.

Optimus interrupted his temporary sidetrack of thought. "What is it, old friend? Why the formality?"

Ratchet blinked his apertures, ground his vocal keys in a fidgety motion and finally said, "Sir, I…permission to speak freely?"

Optimus' optic ridges furrowed. Mercedes' myriad expressions grew on them all, daily, it seemed. "Is something wrong?"

Doggedly, he awaited permission, which Optimus realized and gave with a small amount of irritation, laced with a growing sense of wariness. Primus, but he almost wished he didn't have the deeper cognizance that allowed him to sense more than met the optic. Sometimes it just made things more frustrating than facile.

"Starscream is not producing results from his current level of interrogation. I'd like to request an advanced procedure involving more…" here it was, now or never… how to put it? "Decepticon-like techniques."

The wariness turned to a dead stillness. That was something interesting about Optimus' merge with Megatron's core remnant. They'd come to realize that whenever there was an internal discussion between the two leaders…brothers…Ratchet could not sense anything from the Prime. What were they discussing? What did the core remnant impart to Optimus about Ratchet's past? This not-knowing made him nervous. "Sir, I know it's not in Autobot interrogation SOP, but we need to know what he knows. If Omega IS coming, as Mercedes predicted, we need to know when in order to make the necessary preparations."

His leader's features were once again doused in surprise. "I was about to agree with you for the same reason, but you've never felt the need to justify your requests before, Ratchet. Why now? You know we're under pressure from the human governments to provide information. This is paramount to our residence on Earth."

Fluid levels fluctuated internally. THAT was what unnerved him about the stillnesses that indicated an internal conversation. Optimus had never approved torture for any reason before the merge, even though it was more often than not requested in a joking manner and by their Weapons Specialist. Ever since the merge, however, Optimus was more…balanced. It was strange to see after thousands of vorns.

"I…" Honesty usually worked rather well with Prime. "Your silences unnerve me. I'm used to you thinking aloud." Ratchet held his exhaust, waiting to see if the partial truth would fly.

Optimus nodded reluctantly and the medic slowly relaxed. "Bear in mind I don't want him dismantled in any way, shape, or form. He is still under our protection, so don't do anything you can't easily repair in this facility." Ageless blue optics, much older than they should be, pierced Ratchet's own to gain understanding. Was his calibration off, or were his optics a bit more…violet? Interesting. Something else to log in Optimus' maintenance file.

"Of course, Prime." His mind immediately mapped out any parts he would need from the F-15 retired in the next hangar. There would need to be some serious machine work to upgrade the old human flight mechanisms to the newer F-22 alt that Starscream had adopted, but humans had nothing like his tools.

It started to dawn on him that he had permission to go ahead with his…explorations…and there didn't seem to be any repercussions concerning his past. Could it have been that easy? Or was Prime playing it close? Ratchet would do nearly anything to keep his camaraderie active amongst his team… And most especially Optimus, the one bot that had given him the gift of productivity to balance out his naturally destructive programming. He silently awaited his leader's dismissal, standing at attention, waiting for nothing and everything…

Optimus observed Ratchet's stance and sighed through his vent stacks in humored irritation. "That's ridiculous and you know it." He gestured out of the office. "Go on. Get that information."

He didn't have to be told twice. This just might work out. He could have a taste of his old personality after thousands of vorns and still keep the precarious balance he'd built amongst his teammates. "Yes, Sir." With renewed enthusiasm, Ratchet eagerly turned away and headed back the way he came. Now…where had he seen that pair of jumper cables?


	2. Chapter 2

This chapter may be a bit hard to follow if you haven't read Prime's Number. Basically, Megatron's consciousness is inside Optimus and they're having a conversation. And yes, the boldened parts are that way on purpose.

* * *

**Chapter 2**

Optimus slid back behind his desk-wing and monitored Ratchet's signal through the base all the way to the med bay. "Do you think he knows we remember?"

Knowing his question wasn't rhetorical, a familiar, slightly oily, slightly distant voice answered inside his meta. _Hmph. Hardly. I would put credits on him fretting over it, though. You can't hide your nature for that long and not be overly analytical about it._

We've been over this. "He's not hiding his nature. He's using it in a productive fashion." Optimus stared at the datapad in front of him, pretending to mutter to himself since Mercedes had a habit of walking in on him and his conversations. It was just too hard to tell her…and Ironhide and Bumblebee. Regulus would have known from the moment Megatron's core disintegrated to ash in Optimus' hands.

_You keep telling yourself that, Orion. Then think about trying NOT to lead._

"I don't know what you're talking about. It would be nice not to have to lead, for once." He pushed that dark cave out of his thoughts, glad of the distraction of the argument. Please, Primus, just a vacation with Mercedes…away from the burden of just carrying the Matrix for Regulus to succeed. Away from telling people what to--

_Don't give me that load of scrap, brother. You've been telling people what to do and making your own decisions for decavorns._

"I do more than just tell people what to do." Anyway. Someone had to.

The scorn in Megatron's contained voice was painfully evident. _Oh, I'm sorry, I momentarily forgot that you just ask politely and wait._

Much more evident than the normal he'd come to understand ever since Megatron's core merged with his. Something was up…"What's wrong with you, today?"

_**Wrong with me? Your medic, my former First Lieutenant, is about to dismantle my…Second in Command—**_

Oh Primus, here come the flood gates. "Former Second in Command."

_What?_

It WAS rather satisfying each time he was able to derail his brother. "He's not YOUR Second in Command, anymore. Ergaleio." Wait for it…

_I told you not to call me that--_

Bingo

_--and it doesn't matter whether or not he's former or current. **I spent aeons training that Seeker to jump at my every whim, letting me destroy his confidence over and over…**letting me do…other things to him. Regardless, it's not easy knowing that someone else is going to get to take advantage of that._

And there was a critical difference between them. "I don't think he's going to be quite like that, Ergaleio." He just couldn't resist.

_Stop calling me that, for the last time! And you obviously have forgotten your first real introduction to Hatchet._

Oh now you bring out the heavy artillery. _Well someone has to_. Stop listening to my thoughts. _I don't have audios, and you're avoiding the subject_. Optimus sighed. "I had forgotten. But when you merged with me, it was all there. That won't easily be forgotten again."

There was a pleasant silence where Optimus felt an astrosecond of peace.

_**I have to give the mech credit, he did a rather fine job of redirecting your file paths away from that memory slot.**_

There were times when Megatron didn't sound like…well, who else could it be. "Yes. Yes he did. He's always been superb at his job. Which is why I trust him with this."

_**Can we at least watch?**_

"No." Sweet Sentience, couldn't he at least enjoy a moment's peace?

_You let me watch other things._

"That's uncontrollable if I ever want to see Mercedes again and you know it. I try to keep you at bay." To no avail.

_Ha. You never succeed. Still, you have to admit, she liked that suggestion I made the other night._

She did. It had shocked the slag out of him, but she did. "I didn't think it would work."

_It ALWAYS works. Femmes love it._

Femmes? "And here I thought your tastes ran in a singular direction."

_Please don't start that again. You're being closed-minded._

Was that a sigh from his brother? Still, "It's open-minded to go against my nature?"

_No, it's closed-minded to chide someone for learning theirs._

He leaned back in his seat. "I'll accede that."

_About damned time._

"I've always been reasonable, Ergaleio."

_Except when it comes to fulfilling a SIMPLE request._

He started playing with the datapad stylus, wiggling it between his digits. "I can't help it, you're here with me, trapped. The bad side is that you're always there and I'm never alone. The good side is, you can't get away from me anymore. How else am I supposed to cope?"

_**Get a hobby.**_

Now that just struck wrong. "I was rather on the way to creating one with Mercedes when you came along and commandeered front row seats. I couldn't enjoy her for weeks without shuddering in revulsion."

How does a memory stay so individually expressive? Megatron sighed. _I meant like collecting something. Shockwave collected the spark-casings of his defeated enemies, for instance._

"A little too morbid for me." Just the thought of someone carrying around HIS spark-casing was depressing.

_I've heard your Weapons Specialist collects munitions from different planets._

Why does it have to be a destructive hobby? "Again, a little too morbid for me."

_Well, if you're going to shoot down everything I say, then there's no point in talking to you._

"Oh, really? Please?" To put a fine point on it, their banter was rather entertaining. Much better than beating each other to scrap.

_**Well when you put it so nicely, no. Though I do like to hear you beg.**_

There was that alteration again. Perhaps he should let Ratchet do another diagnostic to make sure there were no mutations… "If you beg, I'll take you over to watch Ratchet interrogate Starscream."

_**I don't beg.**_

"Mmmm, I'd have to disagree with that." In fact, several instances were coming to mind…

_I've never begged._

"Remember that time you welded yourself to the floor?" Optimus couldn't stop laughing for at least an orn.

_That doesn't count, I was a different person back then. _And there was the standard petulant response.

"Weren't we all? Well, then what about the time I had you in my sights at the Battle at K-97?" You begged like a petro-rabbit.

_What? That wasn't begging, that was negotiation._

"The other night when Mercedes was toying with my spark chamber?"

_Oh, now you're just playing dirty. _

As you've begun to teach me. "I'm waiting."

_Fine._

Optimus put down the stylus and sat still. "Hmmm? What was that?"

How did he grind non-existant dentas? _May we please watch Hatchet dismember my Second—_

"Former Second—"

_FORMER Second in Command._

He kept utterly still, just knowing his inactivity would drive Megatron crazy.

_Optimus._

"Alright." With a small chuckle, he stood up once more and exited the room, heading in the general direction of the medbay.


	3. Chapter 3

Ratchet giggled with chaotic glee as he carried his next plan for Starscream through the tight hallways. These humans were ingenious. Thousands of movies, websites, books and artwork all based on the concept of torture. Of course, none actually touched on mech torture with any authority, but that was to be expected. There were fantasy stories such as Terminator, Solo, and Bicentennial Man that showed an interesting emotional element, but nothing was really piquing his interest. The Animatrix short stories were intriguing, but again, only glossing the surface. The internet was proving to be more…in depth…creative. Oddly enough, he was getting more ideas browsing the Home Depot website than any of the fictions he'd run across. Perhaps he could practice with his holoform and go shopping. Maybe Glen could help him. Hmm.

With sprinkler systems and come-along straps playing across his processor, he entered the med bay and paused. He grinned and stopped in his favorite spot: the one place Starscream couldn't "see", over his head. The Seeker was strapped down to the flatbed in the center of the room with his thrusters pointed at a special deflector he'd rigged. If the 'Con so much as spat flame, it would fire right up underneath the flatbed onto his hands which were conveniently restrained there. What he'd restrained them with, Ratchet refused to tell Starscream. It was too much fun to let him struggle and wonder. What could possibly be strong enough to hold a Decepticon's hands? Why, another Decepticon's hands, of course.

Thankfully, none of the other Autobots came into the med bay unless they absolutely had to. Ratchet just covered Starscream up with a couple of tarps when they did. There was a chance Optimus saw him pilfer Megatron's claw before they left the body in Dr. Baker's "tender" care, but no one had said anything so far.

Starscream lay perfectly still, but that was how Ratchet knew he knew he was there. The Seeker waited, listened, anticipated each of his movements with a deadly precision that made Ratchet's respect for him grow, somewhat. Any bot that could be THIS patient with the medic had experience. Which was why he'd asked for permission to do more than his norm. What the real question was: How far would he have to push the flier?

Good question.

"Well, my friend, did you sleep well?" It never hurt to be polite. Especially since that was what made Starscream cringe the most. Out of all his machinations, manners had been the quickest way to get a response from the Decepticon. He stepped up to the flatbed and peered at his patient from overhead.

He'd not bothered to online his optics to reply. "I always wondered how you could stand to be an Autobot, but clearly you were too weak to become a Decepticon. I'm glad I was wrong about you."

As far as jabs went, that was fairly good. He forged ahead, choosing not to dwell on how close to home that actually hit. There was no way Starscream would remember him, he'd seen to it personally. "Did you need all night to think up that one, flier, or did I finally inspire some intelligence in that fried processor of yours?" Without waiting for a response, he hefted his new toy to the side, secured it onto the four-pronged "claw" hoist and grabbed the tiny buttons to operate the lift. The whining, cranking gears were a lovely cacophony beneath the whirring slide as his new acquisition swung over Starscream, just far enough above them to let Ratchet lean in if he wished so and just low enough so that his "friend" couldn't see any more of the room.

He looked up and waved just as Starscream's reflected optics flared crimson into the mirror. "Good morning, Sunshine."

The optics flicked between their own reflection and Ratchet's and narrowed, but no speech emitted the high-pitched vocals. The yellow bot maintained his cheerful expression and winked his aperture, turning towards his desk. "You know what I think?"

"I'd rather not, but I assume you're going to share, regardless."

Primus, but it felt good to have the options he did now. It made his next few moves incredibly exciting, instead of his normal dread of making messes he'd just have to clean up later. Ah, but it was nearly enough to make him purr. "You're right. I shall. No sense holding back from you, O Intelligent One." He moved closer to his desk and started cleaning it off. He'd made it all the way to the last wrench before Starscream lost his patience.

"Well?"

"Well what?" Ratchet couldn't help the vocal tremor of amusement that eagerly leapt into his response.

"Nevermind. I'd probably rather not know."

He placed the last wrench in a bucket on the floor and faked disappointment. "Aww, you don't want to help me with some spring cleaning, as they call it here on Earth?"

"If it means you letting me off this infernal flatbed, then sure, I'll help you clean house." There was no mistaking the double entendre of his phrasing. Satisfied that he had the flier's full attention, he slowly sat down in the converted dump-truck bed that served as his chair, making sure to use each groaning spring to its fullest advantage.

"Now, now, friend, don't misunderstand me. You don't have to lift a finger." He rocked back and forth…slowly.

There was a slight pause…was that the sound of grinding dentas? "Unlike some mechs, all I need is one shot. You won't feel a thing."

An interesting choice of words. "Like Megatron?" He honestly was curious why Starscream obliterated Megatron's head when he was nearly gone anyway and the only other thing coming out of his vocalizer was how to stop Omega-Six. Nothing Starscream shouldn't have loved to let the Autobots to take care of. He watched the wings twitch under the flightless Seeker in agitation. Aaaah. Had he hit a little harder than was obvious?

"As if you'd understand Decepticon logic."

Ratchet chuckled a little. "You'd probably be surprised."

Clearly disbelieving, Starscream fell right into check. "Then why would YOU do it?"

Fascinating. He slowly stood, again using the chair to its full irritability, and walked back to the flatbed. His response came quietly, in counterpoint to the loud steps he was using to build the Seeker's awareness. "I'd either be upholding his honor or mine," He leaned over the surprised mech, "…unless he'd outlived his usefulness."

Starscream's optics flared a bit. Ha, he'd hit on something with his statement, that much was obvious, so which was it? "As for your usefulness, well…"

The tiny glimmer of interest lighting the ruby optics dimmed. "Yeah, yeah, tell you where Omega is. Let me know when you have a better plan for getting that information."

Ratchet just grinned and stepped quickly back to his desk. With lovely efficiency, he lased the desk-wing in half, then EMP'd the parts across the room to land with a resounding crunch amongst the pile of scrap stored there. "Actually, I do." He looked back to his captive. There was that silent patience again, only instead of calculating, it felt more…wary.

Checkmate.

The medic walked back to Starscream, flicking open his counter-reticulating buzz saw one blade at a time so that when he reached the flatbed, it was half-set. "Now, if you stay quiet, I'll go slowly." With a grin at the flared optics below his, he slid one hand under Starscream's head and yanked forward, pulling the Seeker into a very strained seated position. His blades were fully set now. "It's time I build myself a new desk."


End file.
